The Woman With No History
by Christine Ruud
Summary: Waking up and not knowing where you are is frightening. Not knowing your own name is worse.
1. Chapter 1

Enter the woman with no history. She's got no memory of...anything. Family, friends, significant others? None that jump to mind.

_Nothing _jumps to mind.

**XXX**

**11:31 P.M., May 23rd, 1952**

_Dear Diary, _

_Well. Lah-de-dah. I've just arrived at the sanitarium, also known as the MASH four-oh...well, it's the MASH four-oh-something. _

_I suppose you'd enjoy a bit of history about me. (I know I certainly would.) In the fourteen hours that I've been conscious, I've learned these lovely tidbits about myself:_

_I'm British. (Hence the accent.)_

_I have little to no knowledge on how I got to this hellhole._

_I cannot stand meatloaf. _

_Pathetic. And now I'm here, for God knows how long. _

_Speaking of here, I suppose I should now inform you how I came to be here. After all, I have nothing better to do. _

_Captain Hunnicutt supposedly found me in a ditch on the way back from the eight-oh-sixty-third last night. (Now how can I remember that but not the bloody unit I'm trapped at?) I was unconscious and bloody and...well, you can about imagine. He brought me back, I caused a stir, and I then woke up. Completely confused and utterly exhausted, I demanded to know where I was. They told me and...I suppose I blew up. I knew I belonged somewhere and this was not it. I made a mad run (if you could call it "mad" in the state I was in) towards the road and then I was caught. Not by the enemy, mind you, but by Major Winchester. He is tall, large, and balding, but he is quite attractive, actually. _

_Either way, attractive major or not, the C.O. told me that I would be staying at the unit until they could figure out where I came from. I swore up and down that I was not going to stay here, but they put me in post-op with the male soldiers. I put up so much of a fuss that they put a divider between their beds and mine. I'm closest to the desk, which is of small comfort. _

_And as for this diary, well, it was prescribed by a psychiatrist named Dr. Freedman. He seemed quite interested when Captain Pierce called him. (Or at least that's what the captain told me.) The psychatrist suggested that I record the events of each day and see if it leads to things that are more in-depth. I certainly don't hope I have to show this to him, because I've already babbled about the attractive ranking surgeon, my skittishness, and generally made myself to be an idiot. Well, whomever gets to analyze this, you would be quite the idiot too if you had to deal with so much in less than twenty-four hours. _

_I think I will cut the "dear diary" dribble (alliteration!) in further entries. It's much too...too adolescent. Something a lustful fourteen-year-old would stoop too. But for tonight, I'll just resort to a cheesy ending and say:_

_Until tomorrow,_

_BLAST! I don't even have a name. This is horrible. Bloody horrible. _


	2. Chapter 2

"So, boys, what do you think? Have you found any I.D.?"

"None. It's like she just dropped in from Mars."

"If Pierce would halt his alien theory for a moment, I think I may have a way to identify her. Or, at the very least, where she's from."

"It's Sherlock Holmes. Colonel, permission to call the BBC."

"Denied. And Pierce?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

**XXX**

**7:42 P.M., May 24th, 1952**

_My second day (conscious, that is) at this place and I've learned a bit more about myself:_

_I must have had very particular tastes when I had an actual life, as everything here doesn't seem good enough. ("Doesn't seem" is not the right phrase. "Isn't" is.-----------see what I mean?!?!) _

_My voice tends to get shrill when I get nervous._

_And most importantly..._

_I'm Asian._

_That was the biggest shock I've had yet, aside from waking up and not knowing who I was, of course. Yesterday I had more important things to do than gawk in a mirror, but today, after things had calmed down, I asked the head nurse (Major Houlihan) for a hand mirror and she lent me one. Not that I hadn't caught glimpses of my hair yesterday, but to see it was truly jet black and wavy (which I would deem quite strange) is a shock. _

_Now this frightens me. I would guess I'm about thirty years old. I've had this body for my entire life, but yet I'm surprised at what I look like? That makes no sense. _

_The worst part is, I still have no name. The doctors are calling me "the woman" but that won't last forever. If only I could cling to a scrap of my unconsciousness...perhaps that could get me something. _

_Doctor Pierce just came over. He asked if I'd like to (and these are his exact words) "tour the lovely four-oh-seven-seventh...it's lovely at nightfall, with the spy planes zooming in." I said that I was too tired, but maybe tomorrow?_

_Speaking of tomorrow, the doctors want me to look at my personal items sometime then. I hope that something sparks a little recognition and I can get out of this place. Yes, I know I sound like a snob. I am! That fact has become remarkably clear to me in the past day. Doctors Pierce and Hunnicutt seem to think that that's amusing, but Doctor Winchester seems to respect it, and I am grateful. I believe he's the type that appreciates the finer things in life._

_I believe that I'll close this entry now and try to get some sleep. I wonder if I have jet lag..._

_------"The woman"_


	3. Chapter 3

"She's in here."

"You're keeping her in with the other patients?"

"Charles didn't want to give up his bed."

"Uh-huh. So how's she been doing?"

"Blood pressure steady, other vitals good. She seems a little malnourished, though."

"Entirely possible. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to talk to her a little before she looks at her personal affects."

"Go ahead."

"You might want to give her a little advance warning. I've learned that amnesiatic patients don't do well with surprises."

**XXX**

**4:50 P.M., May 26th, 1952**

_I just got back from the supply tent. Doctor Hunnicutt came and got me at about 4:30. Supposedly I was looking at "my" things but, to be perfectly honest, I have no memory of them. _

_There is one slightly odd thing, though--there's a silver bracelet that makes me want to cry whenever I touch it. _

_I don't have specific memories of anything but they do have feelings that are attached to them. The psychatrist--Dr. Freedman--said that that would be normal. _

_Damn it!__ I don't know who I am but I'm getting sorrowful feelings from a damn __bracelet__? That is not--I repeat __not__--fair. I need a past! And what's more, __I want it._

_...but until I can remember who I am--which will not be happening anytime soon--I have to settle for dealing with what I have now. But what's that? A mobile army surgical hospital in Korea that I am __not__ supposed to be at?!?!??!?!?!??!?!??! _

_I must calm down. This is unbefitting. Come on, Mariam. _

_Wait._

_Mariam? Oh God, I have a name. _


End file.
